


HWD Drabble Night

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Collection, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-06-14 05:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: All drabbles written for HWD drabble night! Will add more when we'll have more events. There's a little bit of everything!





	1. City Lights

**Author's Note:**

> This goes for all chapters, the title is the prompt!

France sits on the balcony and lights up a cigar, casting a glance at the boy sleeping in his room, his golden hair flowing on the rich purple of the velvet pillows. As he inhales his mind goes back to the talk they had before sunset, the way Poland looked at him when he said, "I am not so naive. I am not what you think I am."   
_His eyes were so sharp, so keen._  
 _And oh, how Feliks had showed him._   
The memory of the night is playing like a silent movie as the city lights of Paris shine into his eyes. 


	2. Hot and Cold

Eliška looks around the apartment: it's bare, empty, small. It seems oddly fitting, in a way— and at the same time, so unlike the atmosphere of opulence and riches that she had always seen Natalya immersed in.  
 _But that was the past._

"Ah, it's chilly in here, isn't it?"  
"It's winter. I've seen worse."  
Her replies seems so cold, detached; and yet Eliška knows how warm Natalya can be, how her whole self radiates light, like a summer afternoon. And she can't help but smile as Natalya makes some hot tea for them both, and they drink it together, cozy and warm as they cuddle on the couch. 


	3. Garden

Poland's face is almost like a vision, his flushed cheeks bright and fresh and pink like the hydrangeas blooming behind him. Lithuania is so grateful for the bushes, hiding their secret encounter, their mischievous games in the garden— with a smile he opens Poland's shirt, and Feliks pulls away, covering himself with his arms—  
"Liet! They're going to catch us..."  
"They're not."  
He kisses down his neck, to his collarbone, the gentle curve of his chest as he pulls down the fabric, teasing, _loving_ —  
" _Tolys_ ," he moans, and Lithuania thinks his own name has never sounded so sweet.


	4. Forgiveness

_Will you forgive me? For everything I've said, everything I've done to you?_  
Lithuania has spent the whole day pondering, Poland's voice echoing in his mind, over and over like a broken record. Like an old tune, the repetitive solemn song of a choir.  
 _Will you forgive me?_  
Lithuania does not know.   
He bites his nails until they're raw, his lips until they're bleeding— in a silent prayer he asks Milda for an answer, but nothing comes.   
All he knows is that the touch of Poland's hand, his gentle fingertips on his face felt like home. And he is but a hopeless nostalgic, desperately homesick.


	5. Bargain

" _Solneshka_ , isn't the greenhouse beautiful today?"

Anya smiles and leans down to smell one of the roses, beautiful and ethereal with their pearly white petals.   
Rūta looks at the flowers— and looks at Anya, and she can almost see a resemblance; _the rose reminds me of you, you know_...   
No, that would sound silly, wouldn't it?  
It's so much easier to settle back into old patterns, old grudges.   
"It looks the same as always." Rūta's voice is cold, as always.   
Anya is pouting now, and something in her gaze reminds Rūta of a child, so naïve— and almost _cruel_ in her innocence. But if captivity is the price Rūta has to pay to see her smile again, like a rose in a greenhouse, then the bargain doesn't seem so bad.


	6. Not Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's drabbles where all Czech/Bela! Enjoy!

Eliška is awakened by the bubbling sound of the coffee pot and the toasty scent of warm coffee spreading through the apartment.  
She wakes up with a sigh, with a clear picture of what she will (probably) find in the kitchen; and sure enough, there she is, Natalya, with her hair undone and ungodly bags under her eyes.

_(And yet, how beautiful she is, as always. In Eliška's eyes, she could never not be.)_

"Nata, did you spend the whole night up again?"  
"Mhm. Work."  
"You know it's not good for you, right?"  
She sighs, but she pours her a mug of coffee anyway. "Is this enough?"  
Natalya smiles at her, and she's so tired, but oh, so radiant.  
"You know it's not enough. You can never have enough coffee, dear."


	7. Treasure

For the first time, at least that she could recall, Belarus had spoken to her.  
Not her and Poland, not her and Hungary; just _her_ , one on one.  
"Come with me, I will show you something. But you have to promise you'll keep it a secret, ok?"  
Czechia was taken aback for a moment, but regardless, she followed her.

Holding her hand (how come was she holding her hand, now— _and why was she blushing so much, of all things, she could not tell_ ) Belarus led her behind the building, towards a small recess in the thick concrete walls.  
Inside, three small kittens cried loudly for their mother.  
"Aren't they so cute? They're my treasure, ah... I knew you would like them."  
For the first time, Belarus had smiled for her.


	8. Five

In the torrid heat of August, Natalya couldn't help but stare at her girlfriend all day long. She didn't know if Eliška was aware of it, but her _buttocks_ looked _fine_ , almost irresistible in those shorts.   
And her _legs_...  
When Eliška came out of the kitchen, she had a half-melted popsicle in her hand, and the way she worked her tongue on it— it filled Natalya with very, extremely _sweet_ thoughts.  
"What are you staring at?"  
"Nothing," Natalya said with a grin, "you got it all over your hands..."  
Before Eliška could question her, Natalya kissed her hand , and licked away the syrup from her fingers, all five, one by one, lingering, _slowly_ —  
That afternoon, Czechia's popsicle melted on the floor, fallen and forgotten. 


	9. Journey, Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this one has two prompts in one, ah- mentions of past Lithuania/Belarus too ;u;)

"Seriously, you have never seen the sea before?"  
There's a sweet hint of honey and cloves in Belarus' voice, below the mocking tone. Czechia shrugs and sulks even more into her scarf, to warm up her cold, red nose.  
"Yeah, and you've never owned a car with a heating system?"  
Belarus laughs at her bluntness. "Touché."  
The journey ahead is going to be long, but she drives into the closest exit to stop by the coast.

  
Even in December, the Baltic sea is beautiful in its vastness. The waves are alive, restless, claws of grey water and foam that seem so majestic, intimidating.   
For a moment, Czechia worries that they might swallow the two of them whole.  
But Belarus takes her hand and leads her ahead, fearless, and even in the cold of December, she's so warm, _warm_. They walk along the shore in silence.   
"Did you come here often?"  
"My boyfriend used to take me here, yes."  
Czechia knows it's better not to ask any questions.   
Suddenly, Belarus stops walking and kneels down to pick up something.   
"Amber," she says and she places something in Czechia's hand with a smile, "it will grant us luck on our way to Tallinn."  
Belarus is close, _so close_ , and Czechia stands on her tiptoes to kiss her cheek. "We better get going if we want to get there on time."  
"Why? Let's take our time, dear. I wish our journey would last forever."


	10. Decisions, Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For today's Drabble Night, I tried to use two or more prompts for each one! Enjoy!

Czechia taps the glass in front of her nervously. Her heart is full of anticipation, and a little bit of anxiety: in this swirling, magmatic kaleidoscope of colors, how is she supposed to choose? It would be like asking someone which painting in the Louvre is the most beautiful.   
She can feel Belarus' hand tense up in her own, and knows that right now, she's testing her patience. But what should she do? A rushed decision would be worse than this, for sure, she would understand...  
"Eli," Belarus calls her, her voice so firm ( _but oh, she knows that under the surface, she's burning_ ), "so what flavors are you gonna pick? It's just _ice cream_."  
Czechia sighs, and squeezes her girlfriend's hand.  
"Chocolate and pistachio will work, I guess. But _coconut_..."


	11. Spill, Silence

" _Stay still_!"   
"I would, if you hadn't tried to poke my eyes out with that eyeliner!"  
Poland huffed, holding Czechia's face with his free hand, struggling to open the liquid lipstick he had chosen to her with the other. "Which wouldn't have happened if you had not squinted, as I told you, and—!"

They all stared for a moment at the spill. The _disaster_.  
Czechia's white button-up was now completely stained with bright red lipstick.  
"Oh my god—"  
"Oh my _god_."  
Poland and Czechia sat there in complete silence.   
From the couch nearby, Belarus sighed. "Alright," she said, "draw two dots on my neck."  
She kissed Czechia's cheek and ruffled her hair. "If she's going to be Count Dracula for this party, I'll be her Mina."


	12. Silence, Crowded

The ballroom was full for the celebration, gowns twirling and the sound of laughter and music surrounded Poland as he stood still.  
 _Silence, silence_... what would he do to just get some quiet right now! He closed his eyes, hoping that it would make it more bearable, the crowd...  
The rondò just played incessantly in the back of his mind. _Faster, faster..._   
Suddenly, he felt a hand gripping his shoulder.   
"Feliks, are you alright?"  
Tolys' eyes met his own, and his heart melted. Everything was alright, everything was going to be alright now. "You're late again! Oh my, what are you wearing—"  
"The wig? I thought you'd find it... fashionable?"  
Poland chuckled. "It is, Liet. May I have this dance?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This one is set in the early 1700s, just. Just picture it. Tolys in a powdered wig...)


	13. Crowded, Decisions

" _Chèrie_ , don't you think this place is too crowded?"  
"Uhm?"  
Monaco shrugged, glancing around. The exclusive beach she had chosen was, indeed, packed— with actors, socialites, influencers, _la crème de la crème_ of all the Côte d'Azur. Crowded, yes, but it was to be expected, in the middle of August and all... her train of thoughts was interrupted when she looked over at Belgium, who looked so tense, her knees shaky.  
"Are you okay?"  
"Yes, just," Belgium but her lip, and looked down, avoiding Monaco's gaze, "I feel a little... there's too many people, and I feel... I would be out of place, everyone there looks so... pretty. _Proper_."  
"You're as pretty as any of them, Margot."  
"You know what I mean. They all look like top models."  
Monaco looked at her girlfriend, with her chubby thighs and plain clothes. She knew she felt just as plain, but to Monaco, she was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.   
"Tell you what," she said, "I know a secret place, just for the two of us."

The small cove was hard to reach, but as soon as they got there, Belgium's face lit up with joy. A whole beach just for the two of them.  
"It's gorgeous!"  
" _Mon amour_ , not as gorgeous as you are."  
Monaco kissed her cheek, and helped her out of her flowy dress.   
She was everything, and more important than anything else. And this afternoon alone together was the best decision she had ever made.


	14. Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RomBela, Human/Vampire AU!

Natalya looked at her beloved, his golden hair sprawled all over the scarlet pillows of their room. She wondered at times how could he sleep so peacefully at night, when the moon was high and the stars bright: when her throat and lungs itched, yearning for fresh air, and for something to quench her thirst.

Natalya looked at Vladimir’s reflection in the mirror, the way it went past her body, her form. She ran her hand through a strand of his hair; the golden locks shifted, but of her own pale fingers there was no sight.   
To remind herself of her own presence, she caressed her own cheek, pinching at the cold flesh beneath. She wondered if one day, Vladimir would leave her. Or if maybe, just maybe, one day she would look in the mirrors around them– and he also would be missing, his reflection gone as a ghost, and his cold presence tangible next to her.


	15. Silver

He stared at the objects in her kitchen, old silver cutlery so lovingly graven with flowers and leaves motifs sprawled over her counter in a messy way, black spots covering them.

He knew that Natalya was (like him) a lover of all things beautiful, worthy of a queen; and yet, the chaos inside her heart showed even in the small details.

“How old are those? They look rare, Nata. You should take more care of them.”

She glared at him from the table, where she was sitting cross-legged. “A gift from my brother. From a long, long time ago.”

She needn’t say more– he understood, that like all things messy, Natalya had found peace inside her chaos. Regardless, he kissed her on her cheeks, and walked to the convenience store to buy some silver polisher. 

It wasn’t like he minded the mess, at all– but if he could help Natalya make some order, reach some peace of mind, he would try his best. She was the rarest treasure he had ever found, after all.

They sat on top of the table until sunset, drinking tea and cleaning cutlery, and that night they dined like royalty. 


	16. Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medieval AU, Knight/Thief

“Now that will teach you leech a lesson!”

The voice of the knight echoed under the steel helmet, high and solemn. 

Vladimir’s _arse_ , however, was low on the ground– the first defeat after a _honourable_ , ten-years long career of stealing stung, and it stung badly.

“Do you have any last wishes?”

The knight’s sword was pointed at his throat, menacing.

“I wish to see the face of the man who defeated me, sire.”

When the knight removed the helmet, however– a waterfall of long, blonde locks fell on _her_ shoulders, and below a row of pale eyelashes cold blue eyes stared at him, merciless.

“You’re a _woman_?”

“What about it, you lowlife? Mad that a woman caught you?”

He smiled, biting his tongue with his pointed canines. “ _Au contraire_ , Milady. Honoured to be killed by such a beautiful, skilled woman, I say. It’s the best sight I could have asked for, before going back to the Creator…”

“ _Oh, shut your mouth_ ,” she yelled and kicked him in the groin, “so, thief. You are a pitiful sight, and I want to give you a chance. Would you rather live as an outlaw, or become my squire?”

“May I know your name first?”   
“ _You ask too many questions_.”    
“Ow, sorry, Milady! I can be a good squire, if you wish. I only want to know the name of my new liege. I am a man who honours his oaths, but how can I swear loyalty without knowing your name?”

She looked down for a moment, and he wondered if she would kick him again– instead, she muttered a name. “I am Natalya. Lord Braginsky, ruler of these lands, is my brother.”

_Natalya_. It seemed oddly fitting. “Natalya,” he said, and from the look in her eyes she did look like she was going to kick him again– “I am Vladimir. Nice to meet you.” 


	17. Time

The chilly October wind created a whirlwind of leaves, golden and red threads flying through the air in circles.

A shiver ran down Sofiya's spine, and now more than ever before she wanted to cling to Erzsébet; she walked ahead, her soft chestnut hair collected into a bun, a scarf hiding the nape of her neck.   
She had always been ahead, between the two of them, always projected into the future. Erzsébet never looked back. And Sofiya stood still behind her, watching her reckless actions, waiting for the day she would finally turn and say, "I am here".   
She desperately wanted to hold her hand.   
_To talk to her, to tell her that deep down, she was not over it yet_.   
She passed a hand above her stomach, conscious of the fact that nations cannot have children, that _she_ would never have children. All the family she had were her brother, her sister... and Erzsébet, who could not understand her wish, could not imagine the emptiness she felt. To her, two halves made a life complete. But three was Sofiya's sacred, perfect number.   
Time passed, season after season nature resurrected over and over again. How many times had they witnessed it? Sofiya wondered if fall would ever come for the two of them, for the last time. "Erzsébet," she called. And her fiancée turned around, smiling at her with bright green eyes.


	18. Decadence, Isolation

Lithuania had gotten used to it by now: the palace's decadence, the oppressing opulence all around them, rooms of rich green malachite and roasted peacocks with exotic fruit from faraway lands.   
Days and days spent in a sleepy haze, dreamy chatter and licentious games.   
The clothes Anya wore, her silk and lace dresses that everyone envied, earrings of peculiar baroque pearls and gold.   
They stared and inhaled her perfume, lilies and lilac with a hint of musk.   
They felt their own braid coming loose: an inconvenience for sure, but they refused to move from their seat. Sitting on the couch next to them, Anya was sharing a pastry with France; Rūta couldn't tell what bothered them so much about it, but the sight was making them sick to their stomach.

_People starve in the countryside, and look at how we live._

France's slender fingers wiped a trace of cream from Anya's mouth, and she blushed, red as ripe and juicy strawberry, ready to be picked. And just as ready to harvest the sweet fruit, France went in for a kiss.   
Rūta could not stand to look at this pathetic little show anymore; they stood up, stomped out of the room.   
The braid came undone, waves of brown hair crashing on their back. Their patience, their armour came undone with it.

Anya's voice called from behind, a whisper from far, far away-- but Rūta did not turn.

Their door was a fortress, and isolation their lover, a beautiful dame without mercy.


	19. Desert

Natalya looked up, at the vast tundra that extended beyond the horizon. The sun was rising from the ashes of the frozen desert in front of her, washing the land in pale white light.

_ How come is it _ , she thought,  _ that here even the sun seems cold? _

“What are you thinking about, dear?”

A voice called behind her. Vladimir’s cheeks were red, and his hair messed up by the wind.

Just seeing him like this, unused to the harsh climate, made her smile.

“I was thinking about the sun.”

“Why, my dear,” he said, “I can’t even imagine the sun, when the brightest star is here next to me.”

Natalya laughed, and he with her, and she felt the light shining directly on her face. 

_ Oh, it is warm, after all. _


	20. Candlelight

“The crypt hides a secret, you know?”

Lithuania followed Poland without saying a word, him and the shaky light of his candle.

Their shadows twisted on the stone bricks of the wall, ghastly and contorted silhouettes .

“They say a princess died here, over a hundred years ago. She was meeting with her lover, and  _ you know what lovers do _ , Liet. And then…”

And then, Lithuania couldn’t resist the temptation– he slid a cold hand beneath Poland’s shirt, on the back of his neck. “...  _ Boo _ .”

Poland stopped suddenly, and his body tensed for a moment, hard as steel: but when he turned, he had a boastful smirk on his face. “Did you really think you could scare me? Let me finish my story. The ghosts won’t come, unless two lovers…”   
Poland stopped, and cast him a knowing glance.

“I see, Feliks. Do you want the ghosts to come and get you? Is that why you brought me here?”

Poland blushed a little, and the fire of the candle flickered in his eyes. “Do you want to find out?”

Lithuania smiled, and sealed his answer with a kiss.


	21. Hidden

Feliks had tried to tidy up his closet all day long, and with sunset approaching it had proved to be a most tedious, unconquerable quest. 

As he rummaged through a pile of old sweaters in a drawer (something he’d have to throw away, that was for sure), he found something unexpected, hidden my the layers of wool.

He remembered it, a distant memory that went back almost a century: a blue satin dress, something that Lithuania had sent him from the States back when he worked at Alfred’s house.

Feliks was surprised it was still in such good conditions, but it was also true that he had never worn it before.

He wondered why Tolys had sent it to him, really. 

_ He’s in the living room, isn’t he, _ Feliks thought,  _ maybe I could find out. _

The smooth fabric flowed over his curves like water, falling down in all the right places.

_ What is it with this neckline?  _ Suddenly, he thought he knew the answer to his question– and there was only one way to prove it.

He had the feeling that soon, Tolys would not care so much about the basketball match anymore.

_ (And soon, he would find out he was right.) _


	22. Dreams

Erzsébet knew that for Nations, for those like them, it was hard to sleep peacefully.

Sometimes, bloodshed from centuries before came back to haunt her, shadows of warriors she had slain in war and combat. 

She was visited by the unfamiliar faces of people she had met; the too familiar faces of the person she had been.

And yet, ungracefully sprawled on the couch, Sofiya had never looked more at peace.

Erzsébet tucked her under a blanket, left a kiss on her soft rosy cheek.

_ What are you dreaming of, my love? _

Sofiya breathed slowly.

That night, Erzsébet dreamed of Sofiya’s lips, and sunlight in a garden of pink carnations.


	23. Skyline

The atmosphere is so different from the one Tolys is used to, the quiet warmth of Alfred’s ranch in Texas. Looking out of the window, the skyline of New York greets him with its glittering lights and grey, foggy sky.

As if the stars had somehow fallen down on Earth, and he could do nothing but watch.

In the hotel bathroom, the scent of Alfred’s cologne lingers.

_I miss home,_ he thinks, and tastes the sour flavor of regret immediately after; he shouldn’t be ungrateful. _This is his big chance, the turn of his life, the promise and hope of the roaring Twenties._

New York stares back in silent judgement. The night is still young, and yet, he has never felt so old.


	24. Nightfall

Tender is the night, and the moonlight filtering through the open window, coloring the white curtains of Natalya’s bedroom in a faint yellow shade.

Tender is Tolys’ wary touch, slow as if he is afraid he would break her. 

(When they both know he has it all wrong, Natalya is steel and diamond and he’s flesh and blood in her hands.)

Tender are the velvet caresses he leaves on Natalya’s neck, hair, chest.

_ There is no time like nightfall, he said, to indulge in each other’s love. _

_ It is past midnight, however, and he has not yet stopped.  _

He leaves another kiss on Natalya’s lips, and she can count his freckles in the faint light of the stars. She pushes him down with a hand, and he falls back so easily– so eager.

_ It is past midnight, and she has not yet begun. _


	25. Sunset

It takes a few moments to come back from the foggy world of dreams, back into reality and a messy, familiar bed. Feliks yawns, and tries to recall how he ended up in Lithuania’s apartment.  _ Right _ .

He’s been helping Tolys all morning, assembling this bookshelf he decided to buy on a whim at Ikea.  _ All morning. A tedious, arduous task.  _  It really shouldn’t have taken that long… well, he never said he was any good at this kind of thing, but since Liet insisted… 

Regardless, after this nap, he decides that he feels much better, and will feel even better after a shower.

When he glances at the clock, he squints at the time: 8 p.m., and the sunset is filtering through the curtains of Tolys’ window.

A satin string of light, creating apricot and peach swirls on his beloved’s face. His long eyelashes flutter as Feliks moves a lock of brown hair from his nose–  _ better let him sleep some more _ , he thinks,  _ he deserves it _ . 


	26. Memento

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Human AU)

Tossing aside another piece of colorful paper, the beautiful countess sighs. 

A brooch, sapphires and a glittering emerald in the middle.  _ Boring _ .

A man with a beard longer than his face speaks up, claiming that the present was his. “I hope it may please m’lady,” he says, “and that you will consider my offering of… marria–”

“Thank you. Very pretty, but no.”

Every year, her birthday is a nightmare. Every year, it’s the same old story– suitors, nobles and _ nouveau riches _ alike, bringing her presents from all over the country that she would rather not accept. Obligations, etiquette… sometimes she wishes she had been born a peasant, to live unbothered amidst geese and cows. 

She unwraps yet another present, and she’s puzzled by the simplicity of it: a simple silver locket, bearing some initials. When she opens it, her jaw almost drops.

“Is this…  _ hair _ ?”

“Yes, my Lady,” a voice in the small crowd calls, and a young man with a cunning, sly smile comes forward. “A memento to always keep by your side.”

“And who might you be?”

“You may not know me, but I know you. I’m Vladimir, the son of your personal cook.”

The men around him grow noisy, indignant, and she can hear the insults they throw around. Looking at the hair in the locket, she can’t help but chuckle.

In front of everyone, she leaves her seat to take Vladimir’s hand, and lead him out of the room into the quiet silence of the servants’ apartments. 

“Vladimir,” she says, “thank you for your present. Will you meet me tomorrow, and join me for a promenade in the city?”

He’s the one who’s speechless now, but the countess reassures him with a smile. She takes the lace ribbon that ties her hair in a braid, and places it gently in his hands. 

“Just one thing. I am not  _ ‘my Lady’ _ . Please, call me Natalya.” 


	27. Lowest

“I mean, I don’t think it’s unreasonable. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask him not to throw in the trash all of my food.”

Erzsébet frowns, pulling out her phone to check her incoming messages. “Well, Tolys. Feliks told me just now that it was spoiled food.”

“ _ It was not _ ,” Tolys glares at her, “it was  _ past expiration date _ , which is completely different, and– wait, is he  _ texting  _ you right now?”

“Uhm, yeah?”

“What is he saying?”

Erzsébet glances at her phone again. 

_ You can tell Liet that the next time, I’ll let him eat those rotten beets and moldy sour cream and lock the bathroom door, and see how much he likes it.  _   
… Yikes. 

“He says he knows, but he is concerned about your safety. He says that he loves you very,  _ very  _ much.”

For a second, something flashes through Lithuania’s eyes. Hungary smiles, knowing that her plan has worked. Again.

“Like hell he said that, that… listen, Erzse, I have to go. Thank you very much, really, I don’t know what I would do without you. With Feliks and Nata always allying against me…”

“... you need a friend, in the best moments and the lowest. I’ve got you, man.”

They hug each other goodbye, and Lithuania smells like pine trees and brine, the way he did back when they were children and fought together against Prussia. They shared their ëvictories and losses, heartaches and milestones… the best moments, and the lowest. 


	28. Rebirth

The first time Feliks had been reborn was the day he cut his hair, and decided that from now on, this was going to be  _ him _ .

He remembered the puddle of gold at his feet, and as he trimmed it in a straight line, the raindrops shining on his shoulders, his legs. 

_ Like Danaë in her tower _ , he thought, and he shrugged what remained of his hair all over himself. A neat, clean cut. The beginning of his life.

The second time Feliks had been reborn was in what looked like a mausoleum, scared and alone and confined. The raw taste of blood was still stale in his mouth. It had taken three days for Austria and Prussia to check on him, and find him alive in spite of everything, after all they and Russia had done. 

The third time Feliks had been reborn was the day he looked in the mirror, and when he would usually see flaws, faults, something  _ wrong _ , he saw himself. Plain and simple.

No shame, no guilt. It was his life and his only. Smiling, he picked his best outfit to meet with his friends, and decided that everything was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, this is about Poland being trans. No, this is not negotable ;D)


	29. Greenery

_Never let your guard down:_ it was one of the first lessons that Erzsébet was taught as a child, growing amidst war and dangers, surrounded by enemies. 

So it came natural, to her, to watch out for every noise, every sound and whisper of the wind, no matter how faint and distant.

She had to admit it was not easy to focus in the humid heat of Russia’s greenhouse, surrounded by lush greenery growing in every corner around her. It was then, though, that she heard some steps behind a bush of wild roses— she jumped towards it, quick as a cat.

“Found you!”

Ukraine’s blushing face turned towards her with a smile so bright, it could have lightened Erzsébet’s entire universe. “Found me indeed!”

A kiss on the lips announced that it was Erzsébet’s turn to hide now, and Ukraine’s to seek: an arduous mission, but she knew that a true warrior feared nothing.


	30. Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Medieval AU!)

_ Don’t do _ somethi ng _ you will regret. _

Erzsébet studied the man in front of her: his red eyes were a bad omen, a disgrace. He was kissed by the Devil, and in the Devil’s arts he dwelled. 

Did she dare attack, knowing that he was not a knight, but a sorcerer? No, it was no time for doubts, and no time for regrets, she thought as she unsheathed her sword, and charged forward— 

 

—before she fell to the ground, in her leg the sharpest pain she’d ever felt. 

The blood was soaking through her pants, dripping through her chainmail. 

“I am sorry.” The familiar voice of a woman came from above, and she watched as lady Natalya crossed the field to fall into the sorcerer’s arms. A dagger was into her hands, ivory and steel stained with blood. Her own blood. 

“I’m sorry, lady Erzsébet, but this is no time for things we might all regret. You will survive. You will _both_ survive… It was for the best.”

She watched as she mounted on a horse with the sorcerer, as they rode together into the red sunset. 

_How ironic is it_ , she thought, _even the sky is bleeding with me today._


	31. Cloth

Poland looked so very regal in the doublet of rich pink velvet and cloth of gold that he’d gotten made and tailored just for the night. He looked so regal, and so very foolish.

Tolys could barely hold back his laughter as he watched him fumble with the laces, his face flushed of the same color of the velvet. 

_ Pink, and golden hair to match. _

“Oh, _come on!_ ” Poland hissed under his breath. “I can’t have gained this much weight in two months! It’s impossible!”

He turned towards Tolys with a helpless and teary-eyed look. “It’s impossible, right?”

“There’s other things you could wear.”

“Like what?”

“The white one. That one’s nice.”

“I wore that one _two years ago_. People will _remember_ it. Besides, if this one won’t fit, what makes you think that will?”

Tolys rolled his eyes. “Then come naked. I don’t think you would look bad.”

Poland’s face flushed even more, so much that now he would need Tolys’ red tunic to match his complexion. 

“I won’t go _out_ naked, but,” he paused, and looked away as he took off the offending doublet, _and his breeches, and his corset_ , “we could stay here. Five more minutes.”


	32. Lost at the creek. Conversation with the crows.

Tolys knew that he had run into the woods with the intention of getting lost and never coming back: but now that he had accomplished it, he sorely regretted his not-so-wise decision. 

He had walked along the same creek for what felt like eternity. Somehow, it always took him back to the same place. Under the same oak tree, on the same withered branch, three crows stared at him一 almost as if they were trying to mock him, their beaks twisted into sick little smiles. 

“ _I get it_ ,” he yelled, “I get it, I am an idiot!” 

The three birds flew away, leaving him alone and afraid. He wondered what was even the point of having a conversation with crows, anyway一 it wasn’t like they could talk back, or show him the way home. 

It was then that he heard footsteps. He clutched at the dagger he carried under his tunic, hiding behind the oak tree to see who, or  _ what _ , was coming. 

A familiar flow of blond hair and bright red wool reassured him. 

“Natalya! What are you doing here?”

The young woman turned her head. Tolys noticed that she was also holding a dagger in her hands: the sight made him smile. _That’s so like her._

“What do you mean, what I am doing.” She did not reciprocate his smile. “Feliks and I have been looking for you for hours now.”

Guilt tied a tight knot in Tolys’ stomach. “Oh. Look, I’m sorry一”

“You better say that to your stupid husband. He’s been crying for hours, screaming like a wounded goose. And while you were here listening to birdsongs, I had to suffer through all of it. And it was all一”   
“My fault, I know.”

Natalya’s gaze was cold. “The night is going to come soon. Let’s go home.”

She held his hand, and the warmth made Tolys blush. “Yes. Yes, let’s go home.”


	33. The 11th.

Another day, another red mark on a calendar.    
It’s almost midnight, 23:59, and it’s the 11th day he hasn’t heard a word from Tolys.

Feliks sits on the couch, his thoughts a static as he sends yet another text, yet another text that is going to be left unanswered. 

 

_ Are you ok? :( _

 

After staring at the screen for five minutes (or ten, or fifteen) he decides it’s time for a midnight coffee. 

Then he hears the phone buzz. 

 

_ I’m so sorry. I haven’t been feeling too well. Lunch tomorrow? Usual place, at 11.  _

 

His heart skips a beat. There are so many things he could yell in a bunch of pixels on a screen, but his hands sit still. 

_ Lunch tomorrow? You haven’t talked to me in a week! I thought you had disappeared! I thought you had left, and I don’t think I can handle it, not now, not again一 _ _   
_ And:  _ Please, please, please, don’t scare me like this. Don’t leave me alone.  _

 

Instead, he types: _Sounds great! Love you._

He doesn’t need to wait long for a reply: _Love you too._

That’s all he needed to hear. 


End file.
